Chaotic Battle
Just before the battle.
The final strategy council.
"I've certainly heard the name of Tal-myeong-gwi-geom more than once, but…"
Moyong Su-ryeon, Master of the Guest Reception Hall, voiced her concern.
"No matter how famous a master he was in his day, he has only just arrived after racing all the way from Luoyang."
She glanced outside, where Tal-myeong-gwi-geom was still scuffling with a pair of spirit beasts, then went on.
"At the very least, shouldn't we give him a mouthful of water, a scrap of dried meat, and let him take the barest rest before sending him into the field?"
"Quite right."
The Grand Young Master nodded at her words.
"Adequate supply and rest. That is the textbook of commanding troops."
"…Pardon?"
His too-ready agreement left Moyong Su-ryeon looking puzzled.
"Then why, exactly, did you propose an immediate sortie?"
"Ah—don't misunderstand me."
The Grand Young Master shrugged.
"What I agreed with is that your suggestion is proper military doctrine. My intention to send the gatekeeper out at once remains unchanged."
"……."
And yet—why, from the start, had this Grand Young Master been calling Tal-myeong-gwi-geom a gatekeeper?
"In this world," he said, watching Moyong Su-ryeon's expression grow only more confused, "there are those who refuse even a sip of water to wet their throats, who refuse even a scrap of jerky to quiet their hunger, who refuse even the fleeting rest of a brief nap."
There was no time even to call the swords back.
The blade of the Third Sword Corps captain grazed the bridge of Tal-myeong-gwi-geom's nose as he snapped his waist back in haste.
Tssst!
Pushed to an unnatural keenness by a surge of inner power, the sword tip sliced open the skin along the bridge of his nose as if unzipping it.
Tal-myeong-gwi-geom's wide-open supersensory awareness caught even the individual beads of blood seeping from the wound.
But there was no opening for a counter.
"Hup…!"
Whssh!
In that same instant, as if he had predicted the movement, the Fourth Sword Corps captain drove his sword in from the opposite side at a vicious angle toward the ribs.
The exquisite combination of two masters.
If he tried to evade in any ordinary way, the Third captain's blade would come in next at an even sharper angle.
"Tsk…!"
There was no time to think and decide.
Tal-myeong-gwi-geom took the sword into his own side exactly as instinct and supersense commanded.
Kraack!
The martial robe at his flank tore to shreds; the flesh beneath tore with it, and blood sprayed.
Landing a clean strike on Tal-myeong-gwi-geom himself… not bad at all.
The sensation through the hands was excellent.
The Fourth Sword Corps captain smiled, thick with killing intent.
"……!"
But bewilderment soon overtook his face.
Tal-myeong-gwi-geom had clamped his elbow down on the blade that had raked his side, pinning the Fourth captain's sword hard in place.
"You—!"
From the other side the Third captain's sword lashed across Tal-myeong-gwi-geom's fully exposed back, scattering blood—
"Heh…!"
—yet a twisted smile hooked the corner of Tal-myeong-gwi-geom's mouth.
He threw himself forward instead, reducing the damage, and at the same time lunged at the Fourth captain.
The forehead of Tal-myeong-gwi-geom closing the distance in a flash.
Bang!
Pain like a broken nose and a face caving in.
"Ghhk…!"
The Fourth captain clutched his face and staggered back.
"What's with that nasty little grin of yours?"
Tal-myeong-gwi-geom mocked him.
Even so, the Fourth captain recovered the sword still lodged in the flank with the composure of a Boundary Crosser. In the process he tore the wound wider still, and even handed the Third captain another chance at a solid hit—
"Heh heh. That ugly face of yours just got uglier."
—but Tal-myeong-gwi-geom kept laughing at him to the end.
"Tal—myeong—gwi—geom—!"
The Fourth captain's face contorted like a demon's.
"I will kill you for certain!"
Blood from the wound on his nose ran down his cheek and into his mouth.
From an interior already shaken by several forced surges of inner power, black blood rose.
"Tch."
He smacked his lips against a thirst and hunger that suddenly climbed up his throat.
His mouth was full of the reek of blood.
It felt as if that old taste of saltwater and the peculiar stench of rotting fish were waking again.
I'm thirsty.
Memory of a sun beating down without mercy on a deck, drying a man out to the marrow.
I'm hungry.
The feeling of days spent chewing raw fish while hunting pirates along unknown sea-lanes.
I'm tired.
Childhood. Memory of rowing a heavy oar again and again under the whip.
And after that—always, without fail…
Kill, and kill, and kill again.
Tear, rip, smash, slice, crush, stab, twist, thrash, cut down.
All his memories.
His entire life.
Always with this mad thirst, this fatigue that never left, this hunger that never died—and that merciless reek of blood.
"Watch—!"
The warriors of the sword corps were stopping Tal-myeong-gwi-geom's flying swords one by one in two-man teams, but neither their stamina nor their focus was infinite.
"Hold the line…!"
The same had to be true of him.
"His inner power and stamina are finished now…!"
They had heard that line dozens of times.
Tal-myeong-gwi-geom's swords had indeed slowed compared to the beginning, and much of their edge was gone—
"Hah… hah…!"
—but like the black deep sea, no bottom ever came into view.
And then, in a stretch of fighting so long no one could have said how long it had gone on—
"Guhk!"
—one of the rebels loosing arrows from the high outer wall toward the inner keep toppled, clutching a severed neck.
"……."
Beyond the falling rebel appeared a single warrior, black robes flaring.
In his hand, one sword.
"Ambush from the rear!"
Someone shouted the warning, but the archers of the outer wall's watch had no way to answer it.
More black-clad warriors, having climbed that high outer wall, revealed themselves one after another and began butchering the rebel archers without mercy.
"Ghk!"
"Kraagh!"
With short screams the rebel bowmen plummeted from the wall.
"Stop them!"
Rebel martial artists held in the rear charged like demons—and in that moment—
"…Hup!"
—the sword of the foremost black-clad warrior rose straight up.
Earth Thunder Blade
They were the descendants of the Great Hengshan Sect.
Warriors who, only months before, had been made to face their wrongs by the Venerable of the Dark Heaven, Amcheonjonja, and who had turned to the doctrine of the Medicine Fairy to walk the road of penitence.
The Atoners had arrived.
A few days earlier.
Luoyang Sword House, Jangro-won.
"Deputy Head!"
Elders of the Third Young Master's faction stormed at Deputy Head Elder Ham in a body.
"It has come to light that the Hengshan Northern Stream left for the north with the Grand Young Master without authorization!"
"What in heaven's name is the meaning of this?!"
"Do you not understand how grave a crime it is to dispatch an armed force without official leave?!"
"We will hold the Grand Young Master's side fully accountable for this matter!"
They swarmed in like a pack of starved beasts.
"Now, now. Really."
Elder Ham, whose bones had grown old in the Elder Council, waved them down with a perfectly calm face.
"My ears still work. Quiet down, all of you. And there is no procedural problem whatsoever."
"What…?!"
As the Third Young Master's elders prepared a collective fit, the Deputy Head continued.
"By decision of the Supreme Operations Council, the Hengshan Northern Stream received a dismissal for their responsibility in the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering stadium construction-site incident. They are no longer members of our Sword House."
For a moment the elders only gaped, unable to parse what they had heard.
"The Hengshan Northern Stream…?"
"Dismissed from the Sword House…?"
"Indeed."
Elder Ham shrugged, a thin sneer on his lips.
"Therefore they are no longer of our clan. There is nothing for which leave under house law was required, and nothing for which the Grand Young Master need take responsibility."
"Gyaaah!"
The rear strike of the Hengshan Northern Stream frayed the focus of the forward sword corps for the barest instant.
It was only a moment—but for Tal-myeong-gwi-geom, it was enough.
"What took you so damn long?"
Pshhk!
The head of a warrior who had dropped the thread of concentration split lengthwise.
"No—!"
With a short scream, the arm of the man paired with him was half severed and his throat cut through.
Slash!
One axle broken, the rest went in cascade.
Whssh!
Tal-myeong-gwi-geom's freed sword—Rupa—stabbed through the back of the team binding another blade, and the released sword—Vedana—shot like a bullet and punched through another team's throat.
"Gek—!"
Screams mixed with blood foam. Through holes blown open in necks, chests split wide as warriors of the sword corps toppled.
"Reserves!"
The remaining fighters who had been locked in rotating combat with the flying swords scrambled to rebuild formation—
"Hold them!"
—but a single breath.
"Hup…!"
For Tal-myeong-gwi-geom, that brief span was enough.
Five Aggregates Transmutation
Warriors charging to seize the swords were split in midair, limbs torn, bodies carved into pieces.
Ordinary rebel troops caught in the blast never even managed a scream before they were pulverized.
In the jammed heart of the battlefield, a vast hole had been torn open.
"Why…!"
The captain of the Third Sword Corps, his head locked in Tal-myeong-gwi-geom's hands, howled.
"Why…!"
His face, nose collapsed and teeth shattered, was grotesquely swollen; one elbow hung the wrong way, and his shoulder was torn open.
"Why do you never tire?!"
Thuk! Thuk!
Two of Tal-myeong-gwi-geom's swords, returning from a sweep of slaughter, punched through his back at once and jutted out the front.
"Kheeeek—!"
Blood he spat painted Tal-myeong-gwi-geom full in the face. With a cruel smile, Tal-myeong-gwi-geom tightened both hands around the skull.
Crack!
A sound like a bursting melon—and the headless body of the Third captain collapsed bonelessly.
"…Why don't I tire, you ask?"
Beside them the corpse of the already-dead Fourth captain lay mangled and rolling.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Having seized the heights of the inner wall, Moyong Un-jeong's Great General Guard opened fire in unison.
"Open fire!"
Bang! Rat-tat-tat!
Choking powder smoke. The screams of rebel soldiers crushed under rampaging ironclad fortresses. The reek of blood filling even a sense of smell long since gone numb.
"……."
Tal-myeong-gwi-geom watched the scene a moment, flicked the blood from his blades once, then—
"Damn it."
—shuffled his steps toward the battlefield as the tide began to turn hard.
"I said I'm always tired, and hungry, and thirsty…."
With his usual grumbling.